


There will be new players

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Awesome Molly Hooper, Greg is the best, M/M, Protective Mycroft, Sherlock is a Mess, Sherstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-14
Packaged: 2019-10-22 18:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17667446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: Why was Greg not at the tarmac to say goodbye when Sherlock was leaving post- Magnussen?It always bothered me....so this is my conclusion:1. Because Sherlock met him earlier to say goodbye2. Because no one told him what was happening.So here are the two stories of the two options.The first is inspired by Saziikins It’s (not) Complicated https://archiveofourown.org/works/7906243





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has spoilers for TLV so please read on only if you have seen it !

There were many people Mycroft Holmes had kidnapped in his life but never D.I Lestrade. He had never once summoned him to his office or the Diogenes Club. He had never once had a minion pick him up. He had never delegated even Anthea to send him a message.

Mycroft would never have wanted the D.I’s reputation compromised by even a single such contact with his office.

He genuinely respected him and treated him like an equal.

Coming from Mycroft that was a compliment of the highest order and quite an honour.

It was not tempered only by the D.I’s professional competence (which Mycroft recognized of course) but influenced more by the man’s capacity and ability to care for and save Sherlock--- as well as (or almost as well as) he himself could.

His respect had been justified in full measure and beyond by the D.I. who had stepped up to be there for his younger brother during the dark years. He had stood by him, rescued him, and saved his life—both physically and by allowing him to help with crime solving so as to keep that genius brain occupied.

As he saw them grow closer over the years Mycroft knew to the very day that Gregory Lestrade realized he was in love with Sherlock.

Mycroft himself had seen this coming for a while now and had been waiting and watching. He never knew what happened at the car park after Sherlock’s return from the Fall since it didn’t have CCTV (which he suspects is why Sherlock chose to reveal himself to Gregory there).

But Mycroft knew that something had shifted between the two of them that day, even if Sherlock was unaware. Or so it seemed.

Of course, being a diplomat as well as a strategist meant that Mycroft would keep his peace till the time was right.

He himself had never understood the attraction of Dr Watson for his younger brother but then he figured that the heart is not a logical piece of equipment really. And for someone who claimed not to have a heart Sherlock certainly behaved otherwise.

He had died for Dr Watson and had now killed Magnussen for him. And left his brother to pick up the pieces, as usual, and fix the shattered people left in his wake.

One of whom, he very much feared, would be Detective Inspector Lestrade.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has a wholly unexpected guest

Today Mycroft would have wanted to summon the Detective Inspector to give him the news in person because he really didn’t have time to spare.

He had tried everything he possibly could but eventually the day had come. Things were now out of his hands and now he couldn’t wait any longer to convey the message. He found himself genuinely apprehensive of how this would be received and wasn’t sure he knew what would be the best way to manage the response.

But he owed this much to the man who had always stood by Sherlock (despite the arrest he had been forced into).

So Mycroft had gone to meet him at his place later that evening after work.

.

.

Greg had opened the door, puzzled as to who it could be, and even more puzzled when he saw who it was. He let Mycroft in and closed the door, entirely unsure of what could be so important as to bring the elder Holmes to his house no less.

“Sherlock is being sent to Eastern Europe.” said Mycroft without wasting any time on pleasantries, leaning gently on his umbrella and refusing the offer of the sofa made by Greg’s hand.

Greg looked at him, confused and getting increasingly worried.

A cold finger of dread was touching his heart.

‘Ok?’ He said slowly, ending the word in a question.

The unsaid _why are you telling me_ this was answered by Mycroft.

‘It’s a mission.’

‘For how long?’ Greg asked automatically

‘The mission is not expected to last more than six months.’

‘Ok…and is that when Sherlock will be back?’

Mycroft was silent and what Greg saw in his eyes made his heart freeze over.

‘Mycroft! What are you saying?!’ He said in an angry whisper, his fist clenching. ‘He cannot go away again…..’

‘He killed a man Gregory.’ Mycroft said slowly, consciously using his first name, in order to convey quite clearly that this was a personal visit, to a man who had cared for Sherlock, not to a D.I who reported to Scotland Yard.

‘He killed a man.” Mycroft said, again. “In full sight of multiple witnesses. Multiple government employee witnesses. Deliberately. In cold blood.’

Greg was instantly furious. “YES!! For John. For John BLOODY Watson and his liar of a wife.’

Mycroft had to look away then. The devastated expression on Greg’s face was too much of a mirror of his own feelings.

Both these men who had struggled for years to keep Sherlock alive had nothing they could say to console each other now.

All those years of holding his hand, sitting outside hospitals rooms, seeing him come down from a high, pulling him out of a fever, the surveillance, the drugs raids, the danger nights, the rehab, the puzzles, the cases, the delight in watching his brilliant deductions……..all those memories being drowned in this tsunami of a tragedy foretold.

After a few beats of a fierce thick silence Mycroft spoke again. Softer this time. “The Watsons will be seeing him off at the tarmac tomorrow but Sherlock said he will speak to you alone at some point before that.”

Mycroft then tipped his head at the man whose face had now turned as grey as his hair and left, sorrow and despair in his eyes.

If Mycroft had ever felt sympathy for anyone, it would be for Gregory Lestrade today.

_The man did not deserve this._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So any things to say and so little time

Greg sat in a daze for the next couple of hours. He didn’t know what to think and what to do. His entire world had turned grey and his mind was blank and numb.

_What had he done wrong? Could he have done anything to help?_

_If Mycroft also looked so resigned how ….what…_

_Oh Sherlock…..and I never even got to tell you how I feel…._

_._

_._

Sherlock came to him close to midnight.

He actually knocked on the door. Greg let him in.

Sherlock managed to look composed, regal even. More like an aristocrat going to the guillotine. But his eyes were dark and full of tragedies unspoken.

They stood in the living room looking at each other in tense silence.

Finally Greg spoke up, his voice hoarse with emotion. ‘Can’t you run away and escape, Sherlock?’

Sherlock gave a sharp bitter laugh at that. ‘From Mycroft? And be a fugitive my whole life?’

‘I will come with you.’ said Greg instantly.  ‘I will keep you safe.’ He raised his hand to touch the younger man’s face. ‘Sherlock, I lo….’

‘DON’T Gregory!!’ Sherlock held his hand and pleaded. ‘I know it. I KNOW it. But I _beg_ you--- don’t say it. If you do I will never be able to leave.’

He held his hand so tight that Greg thought his fingers would break. Then abruptly Sherlock let go and stepped back to put some distance between them.

Greg looked like he was willing to set fire to the planet if he could save Sherlock. He was simply unwilling to accept that there was nothing he could do to help.

‘I would come with you.’ he said again. ‘Anywhere.’

.

.

They both took a sharp breath and the air around them crackled with electric desperation.

And suddenly the two feet distance between them was too much and simply not enough.

He never knew who closed the gap but Sherlock was in his arms, holding him so tight….as though he could transcend all known laws of physics and merge into one being.

Greg held him and patted him and soothed him, with all those years of practise at this……

Finally Sherlock calmed down enough and he made him sit on the sofa, gave him a glass of water.

The ticking of the wall clock was a grim reminder that their time together was finite and that every second more meant one second closer to parting.

Greg knelt in front of Sherlock and gently took his hands in his own, remembering that he didn’t really like being touched by anyone.  But Greg had always been the exception.

_There had been no choice really given that he had had to pull him up from dirty floors, lift him into cars and practically carry him into his flat sometimes, hold him up while he threw up, hold him down while he shivered, hold his face and help him eat and drink something, hold his hands while he tossed around in fevered sleep._

“Sherlock?” he asked, in permission, as he bent forward to place one very soft, very chaste kiss on Sherlock’s lips. It was more of a blessing or a benediction. He felt him return the kiss with the lightest of pressures, but it was enough.

For them both. It would have to be enough.

Greg could not have let him go without at least this simple token of his love.

_Was there a greater tragedy than if your first kiss was also doomed to be your last?_

_Or was it the greatest blessing that you at least had one?_

All Greg wanted to do was hold this beautiful and brilliant man close. So close. Ever closer so he could hide him from the eyes of this cruel world. Absorb him. Keep him safe. Never let him go.

_How could he possibly lose him twice and survive?!_

The love of his life.

Whom he had saved from the jaws of death a dozen times only to now be forced to see him walk into a suicide mission. Who had been in front of him the whole time but who he hadn’t really allowed himself to accept as that till recently….. and would now never see again.

_Which gods old and new could he pray to?_ He was willing to do anything, _absolutely anything_ to make this go away.

But in the end all he could do was watch Sherlock go away----many, many tender and fierce and desperate embraces later, having stopped himself from saying _I love you_ at least a hundred times, though words were really not needed at this point.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you miss me ??

After Sherlock left and was swallowed by the darkness, Greg sat in his chair all night with the light on. He even packed a basic kit in readiness. Change of clothes, money, phone charger, passport, medicines. Hoping against hope that Sherlock would return and they would both escape.

As he sat there he remembered all those other endless nights and days he had spent just pulling Sherlock back from the abyss he seemed determined to fling himself into. Days when even the mighty Mycroft was helpless. Days when only he was allowed to help.

He shook his head and gave a wry smile at the memory. Even as a junkie Sherlock managed to make it seem like a favour to be ‘allowed’ to help him.

In retrospect, their relationship had too many layers for it to be given any ordinary label. Which is probably why he had not even realized his feelings till the idiot came back after being ‘dead’ for two years.

Those two years had been the worst of his life. He had thought the divorce was bad but honestly it was a playground scrape compared to those years. When he thinks of them all he remembers is grey skies and white noise. The humiliation, the suspension at work, nothing mattered. The biggest punishment already was that Sherlock was no more. And even worse was the fact that he had actually been complicit in arresting him.

When he had seen Sherlock run away, still handcuffed to John, he had never imagined for a single minute that it would be the last time he would see him alive.

But then he had returned, like a miracle, and Greg found himself being able to breathe again. The world had colours. The skies were often blue, oh there were flowers in the garden, the ringing in his ears had stopped.

He had no idea what name to call his spectrum of feelings but surely love was a good enough label? The way his heart would speed up when he saw Sherlock sweeping into his crime scene. The way his mind felt comforted when he knew he was around. The way his brain tilted when Sherlock bestowed that special half smile on him.

And then tonight…….. _how could he have let him go?! He should have done something_.

A sudden chill went down his spine.

_How could he have let him go??! He shouldn’t have let him go!_

_Oh! Maybe this was also a decoy?_

He brightened up at the idea and convinced himself that Sherlock would return.

He remembered the first day they had met and how he had felt a connection with him even then. He had wanted to help him. He had realized that he was a genius soon enough but he had hopes that he would be more, much more.

He had probably always loved him in a myriad different ways. And he liked to think that it may have been reciprocated somewhat. The way he always gravitated towards him, the way he ‘chose’ him for his work.

Sherlock had stopped him from saying those words and had not said them to him either…..but he knew. And even if he never said them, it would no longer matter.

Because they both knew.

 _Please come back to me Sherlock! Please!!_ He begged into the dark night …..but Sherlock did not come back.

And relentlessly, as it always has, the earth turned, the sun rose and the night melted away.

.

.

Greg got ready in a daze and went to work. He looked at the clock on his office wall.

11 am.

He rubbed his eyes and face, exhausted and helpless.

John, Mary and Mycroft were probably at the tarmac now, seeing Sherlock off.

_How was he supposed to face work today?_

_And tomorrow?_

_And what would he do the day after?_

He was gripped with a sudden sense of sheer terror at the stark realization that he had probably really set eyes on Sherlock for the very last time in his life. He had a moment of mad indecision when he wanted to just run out and go that damn tarmac and pull Sherlock away and RUN….but…. _if even Mycroft couldn’t help what use would he be??_

And that nebulous moment disappeared like mist in the harsh sunlight.

He went to get a cup of coffee and at 11.05 am his heart almost stopped when he saw Moriarty leering at him from every screen.

_‘Did you miss me? Did you miss me?? Did you miss me??”_

Greg felt like he was mocking him personally. The man because of whom he had been forced to arrest Sherlock and had lost him that first time.

He just stood there, paralyzed………unable to figure out what to do next, when his phone buzzed.

It was a text from Mycroft.

_ He is back. MH _

Quickly following on that was another text.

_ I meant Sherlock. We are on our way to Baker Street. MH _

Greg almost sobbed with relief and practically ran from the Yard to make his way to Baker Street.

He let himself in using his key, with slightly trembling hands, thanking every possible deity, fate, universe, destiny for this narrow escape. He went upstairs and paced up and down and finally sat down on the sofa.

Waiting.

Somewhere out there a car horn blasted. A dog barked. People chatted and laughed as they came out of Speedy’s.

Inside 221B Greg sat looking at eloquent motes of dust dancing in the sunlight, the silence thick enough to cut with a knife.

Outside over there many galaxies were born….. and died……..and eons passed.

.

.

When the door to the flat opened ten minutes later, he stood up and moved towards it, suddenly unsure.

Sherlock came in being held up by Mycroft and also holding on to Mycroft. When he saw Greg reach out for him, Sherlock simply let go and fell into his arms.

Mycroft looked at Greg as he held his brother.

The look in Mycroft’s eyes told Greg all he needed to know. A shadow passed over his face.

‘Does he need a hospital?’ He asked, his voice tight with fear.

He was screaming on the inside.

_No no no Sherlock!! NO!! I will NOT lose you to an overdose now!! Not now!_

‘Dr Watson has gone to get supplies.’ said Mycroft, undoing his coat and putting it carefully over the chair back. It was when he started to remove his cuff links that Greg’s stomach dropped at the realization of how serious the situation was.

While Mycroft was methodically rolling up his sleeves, Greg managed to get Sherlock to his bedroom and was removing his shoes for him.

John stepped into the flat just then and put down a load of supplies on the table with a thump.

‘He seems to have overdosed’ he said to Greg through the open bedroom door.’ but I think we can manage him at home’.

Greg physically winced at the word ‘we’ but gave a sharp nod.

He continued to make Sherlock comfortable on the bed, gently settling him on to the pillow and pulling up a blanket. His heart was breaking with every sign he could see on that ravaged face that Sherlock truly hadn’t wanted to live if that plane had taken him away.

_Oh Sherlock, I should not have listened to you. I should have followed you. I should have fought Mycroft. I should have fought everyone. Done whatever it took to stop you! Anything. Anything at all…..I am sorry. I am so so sorry…….How could I leave you alone??_

Meanwhile John had started to set up an IV stand. He connected the lines and prepared the medicines. Then he turned around and suddenly stopped in his tracks as Mycroft came into the bedroom.

He was sure that he had never seen Mycroft without his coat. Ever.

Then he took in the silver garters that held up his shirt sleeves, the rolled up cuffs, the loosened tie.

It made their situation seem so much more serious somehow.

Mycroft noticed John’s look and the expression of course.

_What a tableau they made._

.

.

Sherlock sprawled unconscious on the bed, rescued from a suicide mission by the skin of this teeth.

_I don’t want to do this alone. Again. I would rather not live._

_._

Greg sitting by his side, unable to decide if he was grateful that Sherlock was back or terrified that he would lose him even now.

_Sherlock please. Don’t make me do this alone. Again._

_._

Mycroft unravelled and distressed.

_Brother mine. Don’t let me face this world without you for real. The pretend years were bad enough._

_._

_._

John shook his head and grumbled aloud as he set up the medical treatment.

“Idiot. Always so much drama surrounding him. Never thinks of others, does he? ”

Greg had to close his eyes and grip his fists tight till his knuckles went white, in order to stop himself from throwing a well- deserved punch.

Mycroft seemed to have decided to count to ten too…..…. but gave up at two.

He spoke, the timbre of his voice sending a shiver down Greg’s spine, the words coated with enough venom to fell an army.

‘Well said Dr Watson! This man who ‘never thinks of others’ died for you and now has killed for your wife. I wonder what he would do if he actually ‘thought of others’, don’t you? As for this ‘drama’ surrounding him……we have been there for him before, Dr Watson. Many times. And we will be there again. We will always be there for him.”

Mycoft gave a thin smile and clasped his own hands together, in an obvious effort to control himself.

“We have never hit him Dr. Watson. Or hurt him. Or abandoned him. We can never move on and have another life without him. You have known him for two years Dr. Watson. We have had a lifetime.’

John’s chin went up in defiance at the clear rebukes. Many rebukes. And though he could no longer maintain eye contact with Mycroft, he managed to stay professional and set up all the medicines and IV lines.

He wrote down a treatment sheet and gave it to Greg.

Then he cleared his throat and said to no one in particular that he needed to leave and go to Mary.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson, Molly, Greg and Mycroft step up and the circle of love closes in on Sherlock, protecting him, caring for him, helping him heal.

Greg had refused to leave Sherlock’s room and Mycroft had refused to leave both of them alone.

So Anthea and Angelo were kept busy-- supplying clothes, food and other essentials.

Mrs. Hudson also came in and helped with the dishes, clearly distressed at the sight of her ‘poor boy’ pulling through by the skin of his teeth.

“Oh Mr. Holmes, would you like a glass of my herbal soother? It can’t be very comfortable on the sofa at night.” She had said, wringing her hands.

Sherlock had been showing some improvement and Greg’s mood had also improved enough to crack a half smile at Mycroft’s expression just then.

 “That is very kind of you Mrs. Hudson but I think I will manage.” Mycroft had said, all formal politeness, declining her kind offer.

.

.

Since Dr. Watson was not likely to be returning any time soon, Greg had called Molly and she had come over to help.

She had been utterly distressed at seeing Sherlock like this and she spoke to him softly as she administered the medicines. Even through his delirium her gentle voice seemed to comfort him.

Greg took a much needed break and yet another mug of tea while Molly was sitting with Sherlock. Mycroft sat with Greg, holding a mug of tea too, because they really couldn’t be bothered with cups and saucers at this point.

They looked at each other, dark questions in both their eyes.

“Did you find out if it really was Moriarty?” Greg asked. Worried that if it was then there was more trouble ahead for Sherlock once he recovered. “If it is….” He started to say and then stopped. Not sure what he could possibly ask or advise Mycroft who was likely to have already anticipated a hundred different scenarios.

“My team is working on it. It seems to be a video recorded sometime earlier, Inspector. Moriarty is definitely dead. I have had him buried in the grave which has ……someone else’s headstone.”

 _Ah. That would be Sherlock’s fake grave_ Greg thought. _Trust Mycroft to find some perverse pleasure in that._ He smiled.

“That is good to know….. Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft caught that mild rebuke and lifted one eyebrow. “Greg” he said.

“Mycroft” Greg said lifting his mug of tea in salute.

The two men fell back into contemplative silence. Remembering all the other times they had found themselves like this. Getting to know each other as they sat in worried and awkward silence…… in waiting rooms when Sherlock was in hospital, in ambulances, as next- of- kin and Scotland Yard, in Greg’s living room as his ex-wife fumed at the intrusion.

_Oh Sherlock…..please…._

They were startled out of their reverie by Molly.

“Greg? He is asking for you.” She said.

.

.

Greg got up instantly and went into the bedroom. Sherlock seemed half awake and restless, mumbling something.

“Shh” Greg said, sitting on the chair next to his bed and soothing him with a cool hand on his fevered brow. “I am here Sherlock.”

“Gregory….” Sherlock said, eyes still closed, tongue heavy and slow. “Call Gregory. Tell him….tell him I am sorry. Tell him …..I don’t want to leave him..…..please tell him. Will you tell him? I have to go….Gregory……please don’t go….” He reached out with his hands.

Sudden hot tears spilled out of Greg’s eyes as his trembling hands held Sherlock’s and tried to soothe him. “Oh Sherlock!! Sunshine. Don’t. Please! I am here. Shhh. You haven’t left me. And I am not going anywhere. Take it easy.”

Sherlock suddenly tried to sit up. “Gregory!! Don’t go…”

“I am not going anywhere Sherlock! Here, hold my hand.” And Greg gripped his hand stronger and saw Sherlock relax as he lay back down again.

He was still mumbling. “I don’t want to leave you….. …..Gregory….. don’t…”

After his breathing slowed down and he fell asleep Greg eased out and got up, wiping his eyes, to see Molly and Mycroft both standing at the door, watching them.

Molly was weeping. Mycroft was looking closer to broken than Greg had ever seen him.

Greg shook his head and couldn’t stop himself from saying in an angry whisper “He killed Magnussen for John! He did this to himself …..for John?!!”

There was a storm of cold fury in Mycroft’s eyes as he looked away.

.

_._

Molly left soon after, refusing their offer for tea and promising to check in again at night after her late shift.

Mycroft saw her to the door and thanked her. He heard her stop and talk to Mrs. Hudson, comforting her.

He was reminded once again how lucky Sherlock was to have someone like Molly in his life. Her unswerving loyalty and competence had saved not just his life during the Fall but three more lives indirectly. And she was here again today.

 _There must be a special place in heaven for people like her,_ he mused.

Greg saw Molly leave and silently thanked the heavens for her as he wondered anew at why Sherlock had chosen to invest so much in the one man who had never really valued him as the precious and special person he truly was.

 _Even geniuses make mistakes_ Greg thought with a shrug, as he sat next to Sherlock, on the bed, gently carding fingers through his hair. He smiled as the genius in question shuffled closer and snuggled into his side.

A shadow passed across the door. He looked up to see Mycroft there, a plate in his hand, with dinner served on it, offering it to Greg.

 _You eat, I will help myself later_ Greg gestured, unwilling to move even an inch from where he was right now.

.

.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg finds out things he had no idea about.

Greg came out of the bedroom the next morning, stretching himself, stiff from having been sitting on the chair, holding Sherlock’s hand for hours. Then he had helped him to the bathroom, after that he had massaged his temples for the headache he was complaining of. He had also heated up and fed him some bland soup in the cold pre-dawn hours.

He found Mycroft in the living room, fully dressed and holding up a mug of tea ready for him.

“I wish you had let me help you so you could have had some sleep.” Mycroft said as he handed over the tea. “I must leave for work today and you will be alone here.”

“Don’t worry.” Greg said. “I only have to look after him. You have an entire country to run.”

“Surely you know better than that by now.” Mycroft said, shaking his head.

“Yes, you are right. It’s the entire world isn’t it?” Greg asked cheekily, both their moods better since Sherlock seemed to be improving.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and finished his tea at the precise second that Anthea came in to hand over freshly laundered clothes for Greg and take some signatures from Mycroft on papers that couldn’t wait even till they reached office.

As the two of them left to go down the stairs, Greg heard murmurs of the ‘volatile Ukraine situation’ and the ‘China Sea negotiations deadline’.

“Some minor official!” He thought to himself, amazed as always at this man and his capabilities. Mycroft was always there for Sherlock. He may have a country to run and wars to prevent but every time Sherlock needed him, he would drop everything, literally roll up his sleeves, and step up to take care of him.

Sherlock may resent his constant surveillance but that had saved his life. More than once.

Greg could not find it in himself to be anything other than grateful for that!

.

.

He spent the rest of the day tending to Sherlock as he recovered more and more every hour. Feeding him, soothing him, getting him comfortable as he slept.

Late in the afternoon he persuaded Sherlock to take a quick shower.

He practically carried him to the bathroom and made him stand. It was only Sherlock’s slowed reflexes that allowed Greg to unbutton his shirt and then go stand behind him so he could pull it off. Before Sherlock could stop him, Greg had seen his back.

He just stood there in shock, staring at the criss- cross of scars from lashes and cuts and what looked like burn marks.

“What the fuck is this Sherlock??!!” He exclaimed in horror.

“Old.” Sherlock mumbled. “When I was gone. No pain anymore. Don’t worry.”

“ _Jesus!!_ Sherlock…….” and Greg had to sit down on the toilet lid for a second. His head was reeling.

_What had Sherlock suffered during those years?!!_ His heart was twisted in grief _._

_And what had he done while Sherlock was away?!! Tried to prove Sherlock’s innocence, yes, and then……just got on with his life. Just accepted that he was dead. Just carried on living._

_While Sherlock was …suffering like this?!! Being tortured??_

“Mycroft!” Greg said suddenly. “Mycroft knew?!!! He let you suffer like this??? For what?? For JOHN??”

Sherlock stood there holding on to the wall, head bowed and mumbled something that sounded like sorry.

“No, no Sherlock, I am not angry with you. I am the one who should be sorry. How …why didn’t you…..I could have……..Hey, look at me!” Greg said. “Come, let’s get you cleaned up first. We can talk later.”

And he helped him out of his clothes, turned the shower on, checked if the water was a comfortable temperature and started to leave.

“Give me a shout when you are done.”

“Stay.” Sherlock said, softly. “Help me.”

Greg hesitated and then stepped into the shower with him, trying to stay outside the spray as he soaped him and washed him down, his intense fury at the scars making his jaw ache by the time he was done.

He turned the water off and held Sherlock inside a soft towel, patting and rubbing him dry. By this time Sherlock was almost asleep on his feet. So Greg just picked him up in his arms and gently put him down on the bed.

_Clothes could wait._

He couldn’t resist placing a kiss on his forehead after sweeping away those damp curls.

_That back?!! Those scars??! What the hell Sherlock…!!_

He dried himself off, still in a rage, and changed into fresh clothes.

He sent Mycroft a text. _[We need to talk. GL]_

_._

_._

“Hoohoo.” Mrs Hudson said just then as she knocked on the door of the flat and came in. “Are you decent? I got some chicken soup and pudding for Sherlock.”

“Thank you Mrs. Hudson!” Greg said genuinely grateful and suddenly very hungry. “This smells wonderful! You are a magician.”

“Oh, it’s nothing!” Mrs. Hudson said coyly. “Sherlock likes this pudding. How is he?”

“A bit better.” Greg said. “He managed to take a quick shower.”

Mrs. Hudson served him food and after he ate she insisted that he take a short nap. She offered her guest bedroom downstairs but there was no way Greg was going so far away.

“Why don’t you go and sleep in the bedroom John used to use?” Mrs. Hudson said, wisely not calling it ‘John’s bedroom’.

She saw Greg struggle to stay calm and consider. Then he nodded. It made sense. No point getting emotional and avoiding that room when it made practical sense.

“But you will call me if he wakes up? Or if he calls for me? Or if he needs anything? Or…..for anything…”

“Yes, Inspector! Don’t worry. I will sit right here on the sofa and do my crosswords. Get some rest. He needs you, so you need to take care of yourself. Go on!” She almost pushed him up the stairs.

.

.

Greg woke up after 3 hours, suddenly and in a panic. He had no idea where he was for a second and his heart was racing when it all came back to him. He practically flung himself out of bed and bounded down the stairs.

Mrs Hudson looked at him over her reading glasses and smiled. “You really needed that rest didn’t you? Come sit. Let me get you some tea.”

He peeped into the bedroom to find that Sherlock was still asleep in the exact same position that he had put him down in. But his face looked so much more peaceful now that Greg felt his heart calm down.

“Oh and someone called Billy came with this.” And she handed over a copy of the Big Issue.

Greg took it and flipped through it, confused, when a flurry of notes fell out of it. They were all written on grubby pieces of paper, in bad writing. They all said basically the same thing.

Get better soon/ hope to see you back on the streets/ wishing you well.

Greg shook his head in amazement. He didn’t think there was single person in London or even the world who got ‘get well’ notes from the homeless…..Sherlock was really something else!

.

.

Later that evening Angelo sent them a delicious meal of soup and pasta.

As Greg was unpacking it in the kitchen he found a note in it for Sherlock.

_ Keeping the table ready for you amico mio! See you there soon! _

Greg smiled. Un-believable. For all his lack of social graces Sherlock had somehow managed to gather some truly good people around him, who genuinely cared for him.

His good humour instantly turned sour as that reminded him of the one person who……

“Greg?? Gregory? Are you still here?” Sherlock was calling.

“Coming! “ Greg said and rushed to the bedroom. Sherlock was half sitting up, his hair was tousled, the towel had slipped off and he was all tangled up in the sheets.

“Hold on, stop, let me help you. Don’t try to get up. How are you feeling?”

“I am better now.” Sherlock said as he sighed and fell back down on the pillows. “Dizzy….”

“Not surprised. You haven’t eaten anything properly for days now. Angelo has sent your favourite linguine. You should try and have some.” Greg said, as he untangled Sherlock from the sheets.

”Come, let me get you some clothes and then you can try and sit on the sofa for a while as you eat. I will change the sheets for you.”

He helped Sherlock into pajamas, neither of them making a fuss over his lack of any clothes at that point.

Sherlock sat on the sofa but had no strength to eat so Greg sat next to him and fed him half a plate of pasta.

“Thank you.” Sherlock said when he was done. “I mean it. Thank you. And I am sorry.”

“Stop saying that!!” Greg said, sharper than he intended to be. He rubbed his face, angry with himself for being angry. He continued in a much softer voice. “Sherlock….I am the one who is sorry. That you had to do all that alone. That I couldn’t help you. And yes, I am angry that you suffered so much for the sake of someone who…..” He stopped. No point berating him something that was over and done with.

“Someone who…” Sherlock said. “Someone who I care for. And who cares for me.”

There was a thick silence in the room.

“Moriarty had threatened to kill you Greg. You are the one I care for.”

Greg looked up, shocked and disbelieving.

Sherlock saw that look and shook his head. “Yes, he had threatened John and Mrs. Hudson also. But I would have jumped even if it was only you. I owe you my life Greg. Many times over. I owe you my sanity. I would have gone mad without the Work. And more than that, I ……I care for you Greg. I didn’t realize how much I would miss you till I left. Till I was alone.”

He held out his hand and Greg took it in his own, pale cool fingers against his tanned ones, warm and soft.

“And then when I came back, I wanted to meet you but I was worried. I knew that you had been divorced and demoted and treated badly at work. I thought you might be hating me for all the bad things that happened to you. So I chose to meet John first and in a public place. I had a feeling he would react rather….strongly.”

He paused. Tired. Greg was sitting like a statue, listening to all this that he had never known.

“He took it badly. As I had expected. But Mary? She was different. Unexpected. I know she lied and hid so many things….but there was something about her…..we became friends Greg. I know you think I killed Magnussen for John. But I didn’t. I killed him for Mary.” He waved his hand in dismissal as Greg opened his mouth to protest.

“Yes I know she shot me. Mixed signals I grant you…..but who in my life hasn’t done that? Mycroft cares for me but controls me. John says I am his best friend and then….…there is no one in my life whom I can trust with my eyes closed. No one who will always be good to me. No matter what. Molly will do anything for me but that day when I was high she slapped me. Yeah I probably deserved it……”

Greg narrowed his eyes at that. He hadn’t known. He was going to have to talk to Sherlock about this. He needed to stop believing that physical abuse was justified in any way. And certainly not from one’s own friends!

Sherlock was still speaking. Softer now, more tired. “But you? You have seen me at my very worst and what have you done? Always been supportive. Always been there. Always been kind. Always cared for me. That is why I wanted to meet you alone when I got back. I wanted to see how you would react when you saw that I was alive. Would you also be angry? Would you also….” And one lone tear trickled down his cheek. “You hugged me. You looked so happy to see me. That was enough for me. I could live with that.”

By this time he was too tired to even sit up and reluctantly he let Greg help him up and take him to the bedroom. Greg’s mind was in a daze at all this new information. He settled Sherlock into the bed and sat on the chair next to him and took his hand.

“Sherlock…” he started to say, trying to find the right words. He was more a man of action really and had no idea what would be the right thing to say now. He was utterly overwhelmed at the thought that Sherlock had jumped, had risked his life to save him. “I wish…….”

“Look at you.” Sherlock said sadly. “So handsome, so kind, so thoughtful. Commanding a unit at Scotland Yard, with such a good career. Why would you want to be in a relationship with a junkie like me, who has no social skills…no job, nothing to look forward to……”

Greg smiled at that. He looked at Sherlock and asked. “How long have you been thinking about us being in a relationship?”

Sherlock actually blushed. “Since I went away.”

“And you decided on my behalf that it would not be worth it for me?”

Sherlock shifted to his side so he could see Greg better and asked him hesitantly. “Would it? Be worth it?”

“Oh Sherlock.” Greg said sadly. “Nothing in my entire life would be worth as much. How could you ever doubt that?”

He slid off the chair and knelt on the floor next to the bed.

“Sherlock Holmes, do you want to be in a relationship with me?”

Sherlock nodded. To overwhelmed to say anything.

“Do you promise to never lie to me again and to never….ever leave me again?”

Sherlock nodded. “I do.”

“Good.” Greg said with a grin. “Then by the power vested in me by Scotland Yard, I now declare us to be in a relationship!“ And he leaned in and kissed Sherlock on his lips. Softly. And was surprised to find the kiss being reciprocated rather more passionately than he had expected!

Finally they had to come up for air and Greg groaned.

“That’s much longer that I can manage to be on my knees Sunshine. Too old for this stuff now!” He said as he laughed and struggled to get up and sit on the chair again.

“Maybe next time I will go down on my knees for you.” Sherlock said with a naughty wink.

“Sherlock!” Greg said, with a laugh, half shocked half amused. “I thought you had never……..I mean that you were not……..”

“Not interested? Yes that is accurate. Not interested. With anyone else. With you….it’s different.” He blushed again.

Greg looked at him in wonder. _Could he be more adorable_?? Of all the things he had never expected from Sherlock was that he would be the blushing kind. But then, he grinned to himself, he had never expected to be kissing him and talking about sex either!

“I wish I had met you when I was much younger Gregory.” Sherlock was saying thoughtfully.

“Oh I wish so too love. I do……….But better late than never? Let me clear up in the kitchen and then…”

Sherlock interrupted him. “And then you will come and sleep here. Next to me.”

Greg gave him a saucy grin. “Will I now? You really have been thinking a lot about this relationship thing haven’t you?!”

“Don’t get your hopes up Greg.” Sherlock said with a snort. “I will probably be asleep before you get back from the kitchen.”

“Hmm. In that case, maybe I should clear up later. This is certainly more important.” And Greg went to the other side of the bed and lay down next to Sherlock.

Sherlock turned to face him. “Gregory.” He said softly, stroking his cheek and running his thumb over his lips.

“Sherlock” Greg replied, equally softly, as he reached over pulled Sherlock closer till he was lying on his chest. He held him close and they lay in each other’s arms, breathing in synchrony…..till Sherlock fell asleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a good thing to have the Most dangerous Man in Britain on your side :)

Greg slept soundly and did not check his phone for messages till he woke up the next morning.

He scowled when he saw that there was still no reply from Mycroft.

He came out of the bedroom to find Mycroft waiting for him in the living room.

“Gregory.” He said in greeting. “I suppose you saw the scars on his back.”

Greg didn’t even have the energy to be annoyed. He was so used to this with Sherlock. And of course Mycroft was even more of a genius. Of course he had figured it out.

“You seem to have a good night’s rest though” Mycroft said with an amused smile. “Here- have some tea and I will tell you what you want to know.”

So Greg sipped his tea as Mycroft explained to him what Moriarty had done, how their hand had been forced, how much he had tried to persuade Sherlock to let his people handle it. How one of Moriarty’s men had been inside Scotland Yard that day, ready to shoot Greg as soon as he had orders.

“Do you really think I don’t feel terrible about those scars that Sherlock has on his back? You may not know this but I went into Serbia myself to rescue him. From a prison. Undercover. My life was not worth anything at that point if I could not save his.”

Greg looked at Mycroft and saw the genuine pain in his eyes. He could not find it in himself to be angry with him over this. He knew how Sherlock pushed people to get his own way. He knew how much Mycroft cared for him. Now, for the first time he was getting a sense of how deep and dark and wide Moriarty’s game had been.

“I am sorry Mycroft.” Greg said gently. “I was just so angry to see that Sherlock had been hurt so badly. I had had no idea…..but I don’t really blame you for it. I should know better. When has he ever listened to anyone?” He kept the empty mug down. “But from now on things will be different. He will not do anything without involving me. We are in this together. Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Mycroft said with a smile, and on cue, like a genie, Anthea appeared at the door, handed over a thick envelope to Greg and left.

Greg opened it and took out the contents.

It had an official marriage registration certificate, a small box with two rings and two next- of- kin forms.

Mycroft was standing up, leaning on his umbrella, ready to leave. ‘We are quite sure that Moriarty is dead but if not him, there will be someone else……Sherlock is likely to always be in danger. So I just thought that you two may not want to wait any longer. You may use any or all of these items as you both choose.’

Greg was still staring at the collection of documents and the rings ……..and he had a flash of inspiration.

“Mycroft….” he asked slowly. “Did you have anything to do with that Moriarty video?”

‘Oh Detective Inspector, flattered as I am, I don’t think even I am that omnipotent.’ He gave a thin smile. “Work beckons.” And he left.

Greg stood at the window watching The Most Dangerous Man in Britain leave the building and step towards his car.

He could have sworn that he saw Mycroft swing his umbrella jauntily, just a little.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the 1st option. The second option-- when Sherlock never told Greg he was going, will be posted a few weeks later.  
> Too much going on IRL !!


End file.
